Of Truth and Turmoil
by KaelinaLovesLomaris
Summary: Wedge convinces Luke to tell him what happened at Bespin. Luke and Wedge bonding, intended as friendship, but take it how you will. It's pretty angsty. Wedge's POV.


Wedge sprinted through the corridors of the _Redemption_ , ignoring the stares of the medical staff and techs he passed. It had taken a bit of convincing to get the higher-ups to let him transfer over to the medical frigate, but as soon as he had heard that the _Millennium Falcon_ was back, with Luke, he had hounded them relentlessly. His commander had been back with the fleet for over three hours now and all Wedge knew was that he was "severely injured."

"2184, 2185, 2186… 2187!" he muttered, counting off room numbers as he ran past, finally skidding to a stop in front of the door to the room he had been told Luke was in. Not bothering to knock, he thumbed the release and was relieved when the door slid open. Wedge took exactly one and a half steps into the room before he stopped, his eyes raking over his friend, taking in his battered frame.

An ugly bruise mottled the left side of his face in various shades of purple, blue, and black and there was a long cut under his eye. Though the blood had been cleaned off, he could see that his lip had been split. It was difficult to see any other injuries, thanks to the hospital robe he was wearing, but the expression on his face spoke of intense pain and Wedge knew there had to be more.

Luke was sitting up in bed, leaning into pillows propped up against the headboard. He looked up at Wedge's entrance and gave him a small smile. It did not reach his eyes and his cheek twitched in discomfort as the motion pulled at the bruise.

"Hey, Wedge." The young pilot's voice was quiet and rough. "They told me you were coming."

"What happened to you?" he demanded, not in the mood to bandy pleasantries. It was sheer luck that he even knew Luke had returned at all, and that fact alone was enough to buoy his annoyance. That they would not have seen fit to inform him, if he hadn't overheard part of a conversation and demanded full disclosure, frustrated him perhaps more than anything else. He was Luke's Second, for Force's sake! And even then, once they had told him that the _Falcon_ was docking with the _Redemption_ , they had been unable or unwilling to divulge more than that Luke was "severely injured" and Wedge had prepared himself for the worst.

Luke winced from the accusation in his voice. "I went up against… Vader." He seemed to struggle with the name, and a brief flash of some unidentifiable emotion crossed his face. Wedge's blood froze in his veins.

"You fought Vader?" He heard the disbelief in his own voice and Luke must have heard it too, because his jaw tightened in defiance. Wedge was quick to clarify the reason for it. "How are you still breathing?"

There was that flicker across his face again, too quick for Wedge to identify. Luke shrugged nonchalantly, or tried to, but a spasm ran through his body at the sudden movement and even from across the room Wedge heard his quiet gasp of pain.

He finally approached the bed and stopped at Luke's left side. Up close, he could see that his friend was in even worse shape than he had assumed from his original assessment. There were light bruises and shallow scrapes along his collarbone, visible above the neck of the white robe. A black eye was slowly joining the list of damages to his face. But the most telling thing was the haunted look in Luke's normally bright blue eyes.

 _Sithspit,_ Wedge cursed. _That mechanical monster really did a number on him._

He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Force that Luke had survived and reached out to lay a comforting hand on his friend's arm. "What did he do to you?"

Luke turned his head away, but not before the pilot caught a glimpse of shame crossing his face. "He _toyed_ with me." His voice was laced with bitterness. "He could have killed me in less than a minute, _should_ have, but he dragged it out, testing me, mocking me. Made me think I was doing well, before he – " Luke cut himself off, clamping his mouth down around whatever words would have come next. He shook his head and stared down at the white sheet draped over him. He made an aborted motion with his right hand, more of a twitch than anything, before dropping it back to the mattress. A low sound that could only be described as a growl escaped his throat and he raked his left hand through his hair, knocking Wedge's hand off his arm in the process.

Wedge kept silent, unsure what to say to his friend. This fight had left more than physical scars, that much was obvious. And unsurprising, all things considered.

The silence that descended on the medbay was oppressive and after a full minute, unable to stand it any longer, Wedge decided to break it.

"They told me you were in critical condition."

Luke looked up in surprise. "Not quite as bad as that. I was never in danger of dying." He winced, and amended, "Not after leaving Bespin, not from my injuries."

Something dark hovered in Luke's eyes and Wedge shivered without really knowing why.

"How'd you escape with only scrapes and bruises?" he asked, trying to draw a confession out of him. There was obviously more wrong with him than he was willing to divulge on his own.

"I didn't." Luke bit off the words. A small movement drew Wedge's eyes and he saw that Luke was repeatedly clenching and unclenching his right hand. Nausea curled in his stomach as a horrible realization dawned on him.

"Luke…" he trailed off, his eyes still glued to the hand. Luke finally raised it from the bed and as the sleeve of the robe slid down his arm, it exposed a strip of white bandage wrapped tightly around the circumference of his wrist.

"He…" Luke took a shuddering breath. "I lost…"

"He cut off your hand," Wedge stated, barely able to force the terrible words past his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Luke nod, but he was unable to look away from the _prosthetic_ hand even as it fell back down to rest at Luke's side.

"I refused to surrender, even though he had me well and truly beaten. I… clipped him on the shoulder with my lightsaber. It only caught his armour, but it made him angry." Luke's voice was inflectionless, as though he was doing nothing more than reciting a list of boring facts.

 _He's in shock,_ some part of Wedge's mind whispered. _This is the aftermath of the Death Star all over again._

After the thrill of victory had faded, survivor's guilt had hit Luke, had hit both of them, hard. The knowledge that they were the only two survivors from Red Squadron had left them in turmoil. Luke had likened it to being caught out in a sandstorm, where you're being assaulted by pinpricks of sharp pain and the air around you is moving so fast that your lungs aren't powerful enough to draw it in. You're left gasping for oxygen, but no matter what you do, you can't get enough of it and the air is so full of sand that even when you _do_ manage to take a breath, it is made of a hot, searing agony and does nothing to ease your desperation. Though Wedge had never been caught in a sandstorm, he _had_ been in winds so strong they tore the breath from your lungs and the sense of helplessness that it created was remarkably similar to the crushing weight of guilt.

But at least then they had had each other, had been able to cling to the other for support. Whatever demons Luke was wrestling with now, he was fighting them alone.

"Luke…"

Luke looked up at him, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it.

"What happened?" Wedge repeated softly.

The younger pilot's eyes widened briefly before he narrowed them into a look of false confusion, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"I already – "

"No." Wedge shook his head. Luke should not have survived a duel with Vader, especially not after he lost his hand to the monster. He moved to sit on the edge of Luke's bed, careful not to jostle the fragile boy. "What happened _after_?"

 _How did you survive? Or more accurately, why did Vader let you live?_

Luke caught his breath, and the agony that crossed his face had nothing to do with his physical pain. It quickly turned to fear, his eyes going wide, and he looked away from Wedge.

"I can't…" he trailed off. Wedge waited, watching the sliver of his friend's face that he could still see as Luke closed his eyes and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, gathering his thoughts.

"I can't tell you," he finally whispered.

"You can't, or you don't want to?" Wedge challenged, pushing down his fear. If Luke refused to explain what had happened, there was only one logical conclusion High Command would be able to draw. Even if anyone who knew Luke personally knew he would never betray the Rebellion, inexplicably surviving a fight with Darth Vader would look suspicious, regardless of limb loss.

"I can't."

Wedge leaned over, attempting to catch Luke's eyes. The boy turned his head farther away and closed his eyes, refusing to meet Wedge's gaze.

"I can't," he repeated, softer now. "I can't tell anyone, they'll – I can't." He shook his head.

"Luke, Command won't trust you if you don't tell them what happened."

"They'll trust me less if I do!" he snapped, whipping his head back around and drilling Wedge's eyes with his own. The brief spark of anger there faded to a dull resignation and Luke ran his hands through his hair, tousling the blond locks. "They'll kick me out, or more likely, lock me up."

Wedge blinked in shock. What could be so bad that Command would do that to their hero? Luke was more than just a pilot, more even than just a Jedi. He was a symbol, a rallying point. He was the Rebellion's poster boy, the face most often seen in propaganda after Princess Leia.

Luke laughed, the sound bordering on hysterical. "I should have just let him kill me."

"Luke!" Wedge grabbed his friend's arm, holding onto it tightly enough that Luke winced. "Don't say that. Never say that!"

Wedge's mind was spinning, running in a thousand different directions. He had been wrong, this was _worse_ than the aftermath of the Death Star. Even in the throes of survivor's guilt, Luke had never been suicidal.

"What in the nine hells happened to you, Luke?"

"I jumped," he whispered.

"What?" Wedge's heart sank. There was a very obvious explanation for that admission but he shied away from it.

"He never wanted to kill me. He wanted to capture me, and he told me – " Luke shook his head and drew in a shaky breath. "I couldn't handle it."

"What'd you mean, you jumped? What'd he tell you?" he demanded. Luke was close to talking. Wedge could see it in the frantic set of his eyes, his shallow breaths, his hand fiddling with the edge of the sheet. He didn't want to push him, but the weight of whatever secret Luke was clinging to would crush him. If it was enough to make him try to kill himself…

"I wasn't going to let him take me!" Luke defended his actions. "He wanted me to join him and I wasn't going to do that, so I let go of the gantry. It was my only option." His eyes slid away from Wedge's and the pilot reached across Luke's body to clasp his prosthetic hand, gently prying the fingers away from the twisted sheets and holding it still between his own hands.

The synthskin covering the metal hand was a close approximation of real skin, but perhaps a bit too smooth, too perfect. Luke's hands were rough from years of farm work and calloused from working on machines and wielding his lightsaber. The new hand had none of these blemishes and Wedge could feel the unyielding rigidity of the metal and wires underneath.

Luke tried to pull his hand away, but Wedge tightened his grip.

"Wedge, let go."

He shook his head. "Listen to me, Luke. Whatever happened out there, whatever Vader did to you, whatever he told you, it changes nothing."

Luke's forehead creased. "What?"

"You're my friend, my brother. I wanna be able t' support you," he said, his accent slipping as his voice grew more fervent. "But you have t' trust me."

"I… I _can't_ , Wedge. You don't understand – " Luke was stammering, his eyes skipping around the medbay, looking everywhere but at his friend.

"Then make me," he pleaded. "You're going t' break if you try t' carry this alone."

Silence fell between them, perforated only by Luke's ragged breathing. Wedge let him process, not wanting to make him retreat when he was so close to confiding in him.

"He's… he didn't… he told me the truth," Luke said, shame again crossing his face.

"About what?" Wedge prompted gently.

"He…" Luke breathed for a moment, his eyes drifting closed. "He didn't kill my father."

"That… that should be a _good_ thing, right?" But Wedge knew it wasn't, somehow. There was something more behind this, something that caused Luke's fear and shame and his insistence that Command would never trust him…

"Wedge, promise me." Luke twisted his hand in Wedge's grasp to cling to him, and the strength in the prosthetic was almost painful. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Promise me you won't tell anyone." His eyes were clearer than they had been when Wedge first entered the room and they seemed to pierce straight to Wedge's heart.

"Promise." He gave Luke's hand a gentle squeeze.

"Don't think less of me," he begged.

"Never."

"He's my… Wedge, he's my _father_." Luke's voice faltered on the last word and he dropped his head, a shudder running through his body.

It took a moment for the words to register in Wedge's mind. Darth Vader was Luke's father. He hadn't killed his father, he _was_ his father. He had wanted Luke to join him, yet he had cut off his hand and brutalized him in a duel.

Suddenly Luke's fears made perfect sense, and as he collapsed in on himself, tears leaving salty tracks down his face, Wedge released his hand and pulled him close. Luke clung to him, his face pressed against his shoulder as he broke down. Wedge held him, one arm around his back and one hand stroking his hair, and murmured comforting nothings as his friend trembled in grief and confusion.

Eventually, Luke was able to breathe without shaking and he pulled away from Wedge. His eyes met Wedge's and despite their redness, they were calm and clear. Much of the tension had melted from his shoulders and he seemed to be in better control of himself, more like the confident pilot and budding Jedi Wedge knew, though he doubted Luke would ever be exactly the same. Wedge could only imagine that knowledge like this would forever change a person.

"You're not afraid of me?" Luke asked quietly and he dropped his eyes again, as though he were embarrassed to even ask.

"Not a bit." Wedge shook his head. "You're not your father, Luke."

"You still trust me?"

"With my life," Wedge said. "You're my commander and my brother. I trusted you before. Why should that change now?"

"Because I'm _his son_. I'm _Sithspaw_ – "

"Don't say that word, Luke," Wedge snapped, hating the sound of it on his friend's tongue, knowing what it meant. "Don't say it, don't think it. I swear I'll punch anyone who uses it around you."

"But it's – "

"Not, it's not. It's not true," Wedge insisted. "You're human, and you're _good_. Not dark, not evil. Force, Luke! You're the best person I know."

"But what if I fall? Anakin was a _good man_ , everyone says so, and he fell!" His hands returned to picking at the ends of his sleeves.

"Luke, you're not gonna fall."

"But – "

"No," Wedge insisted. He needed to pull Luke out of this downward spiral. The kid had spent so much time looking up to his father that the switch from heroic Jedi Knight to fallen Sith Lord had to be a shock. From wanting nothing more than to live up to his legacy to fearing becoming him… Wedge couldn't imagine the kind of toll Luke's brand of hero worship had to take when it was flipped on its head.

"Wedge, listen to me!" Luke pleaded. Now that Wedge had gotten him talking, it appeared he didn't want to stop. Knowing he didn't have to carry this burden alone was certainly taking a weight off his shoulders, even if they were still bent in grief and pain. Wedge rethought his strategy. Perhaps it would be better to let him verbally work through his fears, rather than trying to defuse them. It was too late to stop them from fully taking shape in Luke's mind.

"I'm sorry, I'm listening."

"I…" Luke made a vague gesture with his right hand, losing his confidence for whatever he had been about to say. Wedge waited, letting him gather his thoughts, doing nothing but providing silent comfort. When Luke spoke again, his voice was a pained whisper.

"He's my _father_ , and when he held his hand out to me, I… Wedge, I was _tempted_ ," Luke admitted. He choked on his next breath and it came out as a sob. "For just a moment, I was so, _so_ tempted."

Wedge stared at Luke, processing this. It made a sick sort of sense, and that's what made it dangerous. Luke had idolized his father all his life, would have given anything to have him back despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that he had never known him. Vader had given him that chance, came barreling into his life and offered him a place at his side… He couldn't have set a better trap for Luke if he had tried. Although, of course, that was exactly what it had been. A well-laid trap.

"Are you _sure_ he told you the truth?" Wedge asked quietly. "Are you sure he's your father?"

Luke laughed bitterly. "Force, I wish he wasn't. I tried to deny it, but I could _feel_ it. I can still feel it. He wasn't lying. He's the only one who's told me the truth."

Wedge sighed. "Okay. So he's your father. So what?"

"So what?" Luke questioned, frowning.

"Yeah, so what? Just because you have his DNA, his blood, that doesn't mean anything. It doesn't change who you are. He may have been responsible for your birth, but he wasn't responsible for your life. He didn't raise you. And there's plenty of Rebels who have Imp parents who _did_ raise them. It doesn't matter."

"But it's different!"

"How?"

"Because he's _Vader_! He's not some low-level Imperial. He's the right hand of the Emperor."

Wedge shook his head. "So he's famous. He's still just an Imp, and you're still a Rebel. You always have been. Seriously, half the members of the Alliance were once Imps themselves, including General Madine, and he's in High Command. No one will doubt your loyalty. And we don't have to _tell_ anyone, if you don't want to."

"I thought," Luke said, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves again, "you said they wouldn't trust me if I didn't tell them."

"We need to tell them everything that happened, except the… parental revelation. He wants you for your powers. That's true enough isn't it? It's what we all assumed before now."

Luke nodded.

"So we go with that. Everything else stays the same. You survived because you jumped. Vader didn't kill you because he wanted you alive, which is something we already knew from his astronomical bounty on you." That prompted a small smile from Luke and Wedge grinned in return.

"You all used to tease me about that."

"Well, we couldn't figure out what he'd want with some little farmboy," Wedge shot back.

Luke laughed. "I'm not _that_ little," he protested. Wedge raised an eyebrow at him, glad that he had succeeded in distracting his friend. "Okay, fine. I'm short. But that has nothing to do with this!"

Wedge decided to risk a joke. "You sure didn't inherit his height."

Luke froze, but before Wedge could start cursing himself, he exhaled something that might have been a laugh.

"So I didn't." He paused and looked up at Wedge, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "Do you think he loved my mother?" His voice was barely a whisper and he reached for Wedge's arm as he spoke.

It was an unexpected change of topic, but one that after his initial shock Wedge found made a certain amount of sense. He thought about it for a long moment, watching Luke's face carefully as fear and hope warred across his features. And Wedge knew that the answer to this question was going to be pivotal in the way that Luke saw both himself and his father.

Wedge took a breath.

"I think…" he said finally, "that he must have. After all, he was a good man once."


End file.
